Everything old is new...

I love old things.  If it was around during the 1960’s or before I’ll probably adore it.  Even as a kid I was in love with anything my mind categorized as “old” or historical.  I read and reread my favorite historical fiction books from the library (the American Girls series and Calico Captive were some particular favorites).

When my family lived in Tifton, GA I was able to volunteer weekly at the living history museum.  The Agrirama was like my own personal version of Disney world!  I got to dress up in authentic clothing (right down to the bloomers), cook on wood stoves, sit on the porch and cross-stitch, churn butter and even have lessons in the schoolhouse.  It was positively heaven for a 10 year old me.

Now that I’ve moved on from my dress up days (although rather reluctantly) I’m still fascinated with things from the past.  This morning while making pancakes I was struck with how much my apartment represents this infatuation. 

Let’s start off with the fact that the building is itself a piece of history (or at least I’d like to think so).  I love everything about it from the old fridge and the cabinets where the milk used to be delivered

to the spice cabinet (complete with my old nutmeg grater). 

Even the little, slightly rusty, latches that close the cabinets make me smile.

Beyond the hardware of my apartment I’ve gone on to fill it with some of my favorite retro accessories. 

I’m pretty sure my coffee tastes better in the morning when it’s sipped from a cup with a saucer.

And my pancakes are always fluffier when mixed in my Fire King mixing bowls thanks to my mom

(who knows me well and has collected a whole set of Fire King azurite dishes from the 1950’s for me).

See...

And while I resisted putting on my pearls to make breakfast this morning a woman needs a touch of shine as she swishes and spins around the stove (what?  don’t you dance when you cook?!)

One of my favorite blasts from the past is my typewriter, lovingly restored by my brother last Christmas.  I love the heavy click, clack, ding sound it makes when I write in the evenings, with Ella singing in the background.

I remember being in middle and high school and lamenting regularly in my journal that I had certainly been born in the wrong decade, or possibly even the wrong century.  I’d like to think I’m not quite so naive now.  Remember the picture of my typewriter?  Um, well, I should probably show you the whole picture of my desk.

As much as I love the things from a time gone by I’m also pretty attached to the more recent developments in technology. 

Oh, but if anybody sees a record player around town let me know.  I need something to play Sinatra on while I dance in the kitchen…wearing pearls of course!